


"I've never been drunk before, but it sounds fun!"- Orem Rivendorn, known liar

by Aeralyn



Category: Critical Hit (Podcast)
Genre: Getting drunk and writing fanfic, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NSFW, hot drunk making out, offscreen sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-04-25 06:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeralyn/pseuds/Aeralyn
Summary: During my pre- season six re-listen to the void saga backlogs, I was stricken by an intense need to write something focused around Orem's repeated lies about having never been drunk. (See episodes 225 and 336 for notable examples). WHAT IS HE HIDING? In this case, it's a heated drunken tryst with a certain handsome quarter-elf...





	1. Seven years previous, in the Astral Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Now with 100% fewer typos and half-finished sentences!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If it's too explicit please let me know and I will refrain in my future works. That being said, although I got pretty carried away, I still didn't actually describe any genitals, I'm not really sure how that ranks in the hierarchy of modesty ratings? And yes, I did use the in-podcast terrible dick euphemism and no, I will not apologize for it.
> 
> I have a certain head-cannon about Eladrin based on Rodrigo mentioning once that he'd had a bunch of things about Eladrin he ended up never telling Steven because he didn't want to dictate the narrative. Specifically, "Actually, Eladrin don't bleed" is the statement that sparked my head-cannon that in the CritHit world, Eladrin have vein-like networks of fey magic running through them instead of a circulatory system.
> 
> Ket mood for this inspired by [ this lovely drawing ](https://ink-stained-emu.tumblr.com/post/167254336224/this-picture-has-been-floating-on-my-sketchbook) by ink-stained-emu and [ this great one ](http://necromatador.tumblr.com/post/154406852840/mightykingcobra-i-must-most-sheepishly-admit-that) from necromatador!

Little Sparkle stood abruptly, her facial plumage lying flat in an unusual show of distress. “Well, my plan for the immediate present is to get very drunk.”

“I’ll second that,” Sekhar immediately added, moving purposefully toward the bar. 

“Well, I’ve never been drunk before, but it sounds fun!” Orem chimed in. 

Randus and Ket shared a brief look of disbelief, which Randus broke first. He turned his head and covered a wide smile with his left hand as he followed Sekhar and Little Sparkle to the bar. Ket transferred his bemused gaze to Orem, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Being unable to find the right words was a rare experience for Ket, but there he was. While Little Sparkle and Sekhar probed Orem with questions about his incredibly absurd statement, Ket was beginning a visceral flashback to his previous run-ins with drunk Orem, who was simultaneously the best and the most unbearable form of Orem. 

“You two are in for a treat,” Ket muttered under his breath as he reached for his glass of cactus burn. 

-seven years previous, in the Astral Sea-

It had been such an apparently harmless suggestion, a drinking competition among sailors after a long voyage finally completed. Orem had been swapped to the diplomatic mission for the final forays, seeking the assistance of smaller groups outside the purview of the Pentatheon and Dark Council. It had been a more fruitful venture than Ket had hoped, yielding several sizable battalions of additional skirmishers and support ships for the upcoming battle. The crew of the Ceres Warrior wanted to celebrate the end of their mission now that they had nothing more concerning than the days-long trip back to Shallai before them. 

Other than his grandmother, Ket had little experience with eladrin. He didn’t have any reason, though, to expect they would have a particularly low tolerance for alcohol based on his greater familiarity with Elves. His suspicion was therefore piqued when Orem loudly announced, “I’ve never become drunk before, so this should be no problem!” 

The crew cheered Orem’s statement loudly. Claus, the first mate, clapped Orem on the shoulder with a broad grin, eyes shining with savage anticipation. With his condescending attitude and imperious demands, the eladrin hadn’t exactly made himself popular aboard the ship. “Excellent excellent, have a seat. Who else is up for my challenge?” 

As crewmen lined up around the galley’s center table and flagons of ale were set along its length, they began betting loudly on the outcome. “Hey Ket, you love to gamble, why don’t you play too?” Orem turned his wide, blank, eladrin eyes on Ket with a suspiciously bland expression. Someone less familiar might’ve struggled to read his expression and then fell for his insipid and guile-less face, but Ket immediately identified the concealed anticipation. Although he’d initially intended to, Orem’s deception rankled against Ket’s stubborn streak with the result of immediately dousing his desire to participate. 

Ket rolled his eyes and crossed his arms firmly in front of his chest. “I’ll pass.” 

Horun, the half-elf in charge of the cooking array, gave Ket a jocular prod with his elbow as he came by to set down another brace of brimming flagons. “What, you’re too good to drink with us after all this time?” He gave a nod and a wink to Claus, who promptly initiated a round of hissing and booing that Orem eagerly participated in. 

“Fine. Far be it from me to ruin the atmosphere of camaraderie. Fair warning though, I don’t lose.” Ket stalked confidently to the table and slid a stack of five gold coins deliberately into the center of the circle of flagons. 

The Astral Sea is not a sea per se, but sailors on its ships are not unlike their counterparts on the material plane, and the crew greeted Ket’s challenge with the alacrity of any group of naval men and women. More stacks of gold were slid eagerly into the center of the table. When the whole crew had bought in and gathered around the table, the competition began. 

Orem gulped down his flagon without complaining about the beverage, although Ket noticed him nearly choke on the first swallow. Clearly not a seasoned drinker by any means. 

Although not a large man, Ket was quite well-constituted and didn’t struggle to keep pace with the sailors. Several rounds in he was cheerfully hoisting yet another flagon as the crew sang boisterous shanties. However, the loosening of his behavior was calculated rather than induced by intoxication, meant to lure his competitors into a false sense of security. 

Orem, on the other hand, was beginning to reel with entirely unfeigned inebriation, rocking gently where he stood as if moved by the swaying of an actual boat. Ket kept a cautious eye on his traveling companion as his fair cheeks reddened and his eyes took on a glassy cast. The rounds of ale were coming rapidly, and Orem had undoubtedly fallen into the trap of drinking faster than he could register the influence of the alcohol hitting him. Ket personally felt that it served the eladrin right. Regardless of whether Orem deserved to suffer a significant comeuppance, Ket still felt a small twinge of responsibility to make sure his team mate didn’t suffer too drastically for his crimes of personality. 

As the seventh round was being served, Ket made a show of crossing unsteadily to Orem’s side and clapping him on the shoulder. “Our thanks to a hospitable and talented crew!” He called out, raising his flagon. 

“Hear hear!” Orem chimed in, his cheeks flushing even more. 

The crew raised their flagons and grinned predatorily at the pair, though they cheerfully accepted the praise. After the round was downed, Ket rapped on Orem’s shoulder again, harder than necessary. With coordinated ease he caught Orem by the elbow as his knees gave out, just as intended. “Well, that’s one of us out. Too bad!” Ket settled Orem on a bench with much carefully gauged stumbling and raucous laughter before returning to the table. 

After not too many more rounds, Ket swept the gold from the table into his belt pouch with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Wouldn’t ha’ thought… ya had it in ya…” Claus slurred appreciatively from where he was slumped on the table. 

“It was closer than I’d like to admit,” Ket replied cheerfully, no longer pretending to be drunk but drunk in truth. Orem was lying flat on his back on the bench Ket had left him on, arms dangling limply to the floor as he stared at the ceiling. “Come on Orem,” Ket grumbled, shaking the eladrin gently. 

“Hello _Ket_ , I’ve been horribly poisoned by the foul brew of the Astral Sea. If I die, tell my dear sister that she was right.” Orem’s head lolled on the bench momentarily before he successfully locked his attention on Ket. 

As Ket levered Orem from the bench and hoisted his completely wasted companion on his shoulder, he asked “What was she right about?” 

“It’s not important right now. Ket, don’t worry about it. She’ll know. She’ll know, Ket, Don’t WoRry.” Orem’s words were coming in a sing-song that matched their stride. He leaned heavily on Ket’s supporting arm as the two made their way down the hallway, two ships rocking on an unsteady sea. 

At the door to Orem’s room, Ket paused and tried to get Orem to go in by himself. “Come on, you just need to meditate. You don’t even need... to wash up, or- change cloths, or anything. Just go sit and do your thing. Orem. Walk.” He gave the eladrin a gentle push towards the door and then cringed as his waif-like figure stumbled and sank slowly and waveringly to the floor. 

“ _Keettttt…_ ”, Orem whined childishly, turning to sit neatly and face the quarter elf, hands folded tidily in his lap. “The bed is quite far away and considering you threw me on the floor, I would request that you resolve this terrible predicament I’ve found myself in. Ket.” It was impossible to tell if his wide green eyes were focused on Ket’s face or just turned in his general direction, but at the very least he was giving the impression of an intent gaze. 

“Ket. Carry me Ket,” Orem insisted fixedly when Ket didn’t respond, his thin lips forming the words with slow and deliberate precision. 

Ket sighed heavily. Having to take care of a terribly intoxicated Orem had not factored into his impromptu plan to see the obnoxious, beautiful eladrin humiliated in front of an entire crew of what his companion would no doubt consider dreadful commoners. Ket himself respected the sailors, but he had come to understand his party member’s supercilious views quite well in the past weeks. It was a shame that Orem’s personality wasn’t as fair as his face, refined as his voice, or natural and elegant as his swordplay. 

Weighing his responsibility and his options, Ket sighed again and stooped to lift Orem. Luckily, his companion was quite light thanks to his fey nature. “Fine. Hold on if you can.” 

Although he’d specifically given the direction, Ket was disconcerted when, in response to his attempt to lift him, Orem immediately twined his slender arms around his shoulders and nestled his face into Ket’s neck. 

“Even though you don’t smell like flowers, it’s still nice,” Orem said, his warm breath raising goosebumps along Ket's throat. 

“Okay?” Ket failed to control his better instinct to remain silent in response to Orem’s non sequitur as he determinedly hauled the blond eladrin toward the bed. Orem’s hair was forming a lilac-scented cloud around Ket's face, floating weightlessly in the still air of the ship, and the aroma was as intoxicating as the ale he’d just chugged. 

“And your face… It’s so lovely, I want to touch it.” Orem’s voice had dwindled to a bare whisper, caressing the sensitive skin directly below Ket's slightly pointed ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ket said dryly, reflecting on the irony of his obscenely vain and perfectly beautiful companion calling him ‘lovely’. It was a bit absurd. Sure, he was certainly handsome, but he’d seen Orem’s type in Shallai: delicate, elegant, jewel-eyed eladrin maidens with flowing hair and ornate, vibrantly colored cloths. It was the absolute opposite of himself. He settled Orem into a seated position on the edge of the bed with a slight grunt for the effort of lifting him up the extra height. When he tried to move away, Orem didn’t let go. 

“Stay. Stay with me,” Orem whispered again, directly into Ket's ear this time. He drew back slightly to gaze straight into Ket's dark eyes, fingers locked still behind Ket's neck. At least at close range, it was impossible to imagine he was looking anywhere else. After a moment’s pause, Orem leaned in and delicately brushed his lips against Ket's, leaving enough time for him to pull away if he needed to. 

Ket was dazed. He’d not had any indication of anything like this. “Orem, you’re drunk. Think about this,” he urged, pulling back to return Orem’s gaze. The Eldarin’s expression could only be described as hungry, surprisingly emotive for once. He was apparently holding nothing back. 

“I’ve thought about it. Quite a bit, in fact.” Without breaking his gaze or any change in expression, his hand was suddenly questing inside Ket's shirt. If the quarter elf had been less shocked or more sober he would’ve noticed the advance sooner, but as it was, he found himself one again taken entirely by surprise. 

“Orem.” Ket grasped his elbow firmly, resolutely keeping a steady, neutral face. “In that case, we need to talk about this another time. When you’re sober. When we’re both sober.” 

Orem’s face creased unpleasantly. “I.. I see. I understand. Just, just give me a moment. I’m, I’ll respect your wishes. I w- won’t mention it again.” Although his words implied that Orem might withdraw, he instead leaned forward to bury his face in Ket's neck again. Almost immediately Ket felt the warm wetness of tears against his neck. 

“Hey. I’m not exactly saying no, okay? I’m saying let’s talk about this later, when we’re both at full mental capacity.” Ket couldn’t help but draw a hand up to cup the back of Orem’s head gently. He’d never spared a thought for the possibility that his companion might be concealing this sort of romantic attraction. He wouldn’t normally care either, if someone’s feelings were hurt through no fault of his own, but Ket was just drunk enough himself for the shock and his budding sense of companionship with Orem to move him to sentimentality. And sure, maybe he’d thought a bit more than he’d like to admit about Orem’s ivory skin and the way his artistically chiseled lips parted slightly when he was deep in meditation. Just maybe. 

“I don’t want to wait. I just want you.” Orem’s voice trembled uncharacteristically. With a deft twist he broke his arm free of Ket's faltering grasp to trace the soft planes of his stomach with incredibly delicate fingertips. 

It was wrong, Ket knew, to accept advances from someone when their precise level of inebriation was so unclear. Was Orem unable to walk, or just manipulative? Did his voice shake with the raw fear of rejection, or just with the uncertainty imbued by alcohol? And why make the weak attempt at manipulating Ket into the drinking contest in the first place? Was he too afraid to confess without liquid courage, or had Ket read him entirely wrong the whole time? It was probably immoral, but in his current state it was very difficult to resist Orem’s sweet face and his emotion-laden words once they had been so unexpectedly offered. The part of Ket that was under his own conscious control was beginning to give way to his abruptly kindled desire, which was already causing his body to respond in ways that were entirely beyond his control. 

“Orem…” Ket gulped as the eladrin’s long, cool fingers slid down the waist of his pants. “We, you should really stop that,” heart racing, Ket turned to kiss Orem’s forehead, tangling his fingers in Orem’s silky hair. As he’d hoped, it bought a moment of reprieve from Orem’s descending fingers. “Before we do something you might regret tomorrow.” 

Orem hummed softly before answering. “I don’t do things I regret.” As he spoke, his lips brushed against Ket's jawline. He punctuated his statement with kisses trailing from the corner of Ket's jaw to the hollow of his throat. Ket made a low soft sound as heat shot through him, and felt Orem’s sculpted lips curl into a small smile in response where they lingered against his skin. 

“I can’t… I always thought you talked so much because you love the sound of your own voice, but, do you even listen to the things you say? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you are?” Ket released his hand from the back of Orem’s head to slide it down to the eladrin’s waist. Later he would have time to wonder at the way his hair immediately fell smooth and straight again, as if it’d never been tangled around his eager fingers. In the moment he was focused on the sharp crest of Orem’s hip, the way his stylishly draped and layered robes masked the unearthly thinness and angularity of his figure. 

Orem’s protest was cut off as Ket hoisted him further onto the bed and sat down next to him. Ket stooped to pull off his boots then twisted to remove Orem’s as well, tossing them carelessly into the corner of the room. When he turned back, Orem had loosened his robes, revealing his completely hairless chest. He had the thin, lithe muscled build of a dancer. With a crooked smile Ket languidly ran his fingers down the length of Orem’s sides, relishing the way his muscles tensed and flicked in response to the tickling sensation. 

Where his hands’ descent was stopped by Orem’s robes, he gave a deliberate tug to spread them open farther. Once his entire torso was bare, Ket paused to admire the faint silvery-blue tracery of veins that spread beneath Orem’s fair skin. He stooped then to kiss just below Orem’s navel. He let his mouth drift to the sharp rise of one hip, tracing here with his tongue and nipping there with his teeth in a constantly shifting barrage of sensation as he worked his way steadily upward. His lips moved in a snaking line towards Orem’s head, finding and making note of sensitive spots, thrilling in the tiny sounds that intermittently escaped Orem’s mouth. When he pressed a lingering kiss against Orem’s throat, Ket felt the muted buzz of powerful pulsing magic just below the surface that flowed through the eladrin’s body like blood. He pulled back to marvel at the strange creature before him. “Still good?” Ket asked, backing off a bit more to give Orem space. 

Orem responded by shrugging the rest of the way out of his robe and flowing upward to pull at Ket's jacket. The quarter elf allowed himself to be divested of both jacket and shirt, baring his own chest. Though also only lightly muscled, Ket was much broader thanks to his mortal heritage. He looked almost husky next to the Eladrin, his brown skin and dark hair in stark contrast with his companion, complementary halves. He hooked arms under Ket's armpits and gripped tightly over the backs of his shoulders, molding himself to Ket's looming torso as their lips met. Orem’s lips split with a sigh and his tongue pushed into Ket's mouth, replacing the lingering aftertaste of ale with faint sweetness. 

When Orem tugged at Ket's right arm, Ket obligingly rolled in the direction, carrying Orem with him to land face to face on their sides. Immediately Orem freed his arms to lightly stroke Ket's face with one hand while the other resumed its downward journey. “I… never thought I’d say a single word against your tight pants… but…” Orem’s thought trailed off into a lilting string of complaints in elven as he left off stroking Ket's cheekbone to give this new endeavor his full attention. 

Ket had been foolishly hoping that a drunken struggle with his trousers would give him a chance to cool off, but instead Orem was (perhaps intentionally?) generating quite a bit of friction. When he succeeded in freeing Ket of his pants and undergarment, Ket released his held breath with a groan. Instead of further inciting Ket's arousal, Orem guided his hand to a neat clasp at the waist of his own loose pants. Ket released the clasp and watched with satisfaction as the garment simply fell away. Orem kicked the fabric away impatiently and laid beside Ket, relishing the sensation of skin meeting skin along their full lengths. 

When Ket's fingers slid from his hips to his buttocks, Orem offered him a broad smile and said “Still good,” before drawing Ket closer and kissing him deeply. 

When they were done, Ket cajoled his bedmate into putting on at least his undergarment, and did the same. The doors on the cabins didn’t lock, and Ket had no desire to display his sword-and-fantasy to an intruding crewman, should a situation arise. That accomplished, he paused to admire the eladrin once again, currently sprawled out in a halo of golden hair with eyes half-lidded, a serene smile on his face. 

“Are you going to meditate like that?” Ket asked, fighting back a yawn. 

“Mmm, too cold,” Orem mumbled in reply. When he made no move to cover himself, Ket bundled Orem back into his inner robe. It was a struggle, as Orem provided no assistance and had somehow taken on the peculiar boneless liquidity of a cat napping before a fireplace. 

“Better?” Ket settled down next to Orem. 

“Shhhh I’m sleeping, see?” Orem replied, and proceeded to imitate snoring sounds. 

“Convincing. Good night then,” Ket muttered, his heavy eyelids finally sliding shut. 

Ket awoke the next morning to a hoarse gagging sound. Orem was slumped on the edge of the bed, a small cloud of butterflies rapidly vacating the immediate vicinity of his head. 

“Where are those coming from?” Ket asked warily as the insects fluttered around the room. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Orem replied miserably. “You must’ve gotten pretty drunk last night to end up in my room by mistake. Not that I’m surprised mind you, that’s what gambling and drinking games lead to I’m sure.” 

Ket opened and closed his mouth a few times, processing. “Orem, you also got drunk. Much more drunk than I did.” 

“A likely story. I recall no such thing!” Orem attempted to pick up his usual snobby tone, but he was clearly feeling too under the weather to have the heart for it. 

After staring with bald shock at Orem for several moments, Ket collapsed back on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What exactly _do_ you remember from last night, Orem?” 

“Well, we were drinking, and then you told me I lost and put me on a bench. Then, I guess I came here and meditated, because next thing I know I was here, done meditating.” Orem was fully clothed and immaculate, his hair in perfect order. Only his miserable expression belied the events of the previous night. 

“That’s really all?” Ket asked skeptically, pulling on his pants with as much decorum as he could muster. 

“Of course. Why do you keep asking?” 

“Well, I helped you back here because you were completely drunk, and you, asked me to stay.” Ket fought to keep the inflection level, for the statement not to become a question. 

“I very much doubt that, but I do feel quite ill, so perhaps I thought it best to have someone on hand for assistance.” Orem shrugged listlessly, then gagged again. Ket watched with interest as a stream of butterflies drifted out of his mouth. 

“It that- are you vomiting butterflies?” Ket asked, incredulous. 

“It would appear that way, yes.” Orem grumbled. 

“Oooookay,” Ket said slowly, drawing out the first syllable as he filed away this new and disturbing factoid. “I will… go… now. Why don’t you just get some more rest?” He added, gathering his things and heading for the door. 

“Yes, I think I will. See you later, Ket.” Orem said dismissively. 

Ket crossed the hall to his own cabin and shut the door behind him in a daze. “Huh. That was a mistake,” Ket mumbled after a long while. 

“So you’re not going to tell him?” Gai resumed visibility and hop-flapped onto the bed beside his master. 

“No.” 

“Well, whatever.” The imp said no more on the subject, seemingly entirely uninterested. 

As days blurred into weeks and battle preparations proceeded apace, Ket's suspicion and disbelief settled into resignation. Orem really didn’t remember- he wasn’t subtle enough to hide something that big for such a long period of time without slipping up. In the end, Ket decided to never drink with Orem again, and to chalk the whole thing up as a very unlucky fluke. With time, it became easier to ignore the discomfort, but Ket never completely stopped having dreams of pulsing, humming magic circulating in a thin body next him. 


	2. Six years previous, in the Mootlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've seen horny gay drunk Orem, now meet reasonable existential crisis-having drunk Orem. You can pry every character being gay/bi and Ket being secretly The Nicest out of my cold dead fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, the pluralization in the first chapter was not a lie. Also I proof-read before posting this time.
> 
> Sometimes quiet is violent.

\- Six years previous in the Mootlands –

Ket was already up and nearly groomed for the day when he became slowly aware of the uncertain presence outside his door. He let his hand linger on the comb for a moment longer, then neatly set it beside his razor and mirror on the dresser. When Ket opened the door he saw Randus standing uncomfortably, hand half-raised as if still trying to decide whether he should knock.

“Hey, uh, have you seen Orem? I had some designs for him to look at, but he wasn’t back last night when I came in, and it looks like he’s already left.” Randus jerked his hands back down, fingers fluttering as he tried with obvious discomfort to remember what one did with one’s hands during casual conversation. He gave up and clasped them behind his back as he fell silent.

“Nope.” Randus continued to look at him expectantly. Ket ran his fingers through the back of his newly restored hair before begrudgingly adding, “Did you need help looking for him?”

“Yes, um, if you don’t mind. It shouldn’t take long, I think, last time I saw him was with Stagzi.” Randus replied, looking relived. “Torq is giving services at the Pentatheon temple and Trelle is out hunting, and neither of them has seen him since your purification ritual.” Randus shifted again uncomfortably.

Ket scowled, both at the mention of Stagzi and then in memory of his favorite pants which had been destroyed in the cleansing the previous day. “I’ll see what I can do,” he grumbled. When Randus didn’t move to allow him passage out of the doorway, Ket inclined his head slightly and raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Was there something else then?”

“N-No, thanks for your help!” Randus replied with a rueful expression and stumbled hastily backwards.

Ket strode purposefully down the hallway, shaking his head in irritation. Randus was, in Ket's opinion, about as insightful as a boulder when it came to social niceties, and so attempting to deduce the source of his present unease would likely be both difficult and ultimately uninformative. The man was much more likely to be concerned about how the humidity was affecting his ball bearings than Ket's obvious disdain for the tiefling. As for why he didn’t go ask after Orem himself, well, the possibilities were numerous and the time spent pondering them just as likely to be unproductive.

Stagzy was apparently still sleeping when Ket arrived at his room, as indicated by the largely inarticulate response he made to Ket's knocking and the long delay before he actually opened his door.

“Well this is a surprise, what do you need friend of my friend?” Stagzi seemed rather hung over, standing in the doorway in an elaborately embroidered dressing gown with a broad and ironic smile at Ket's expense.

Ket didn’t bother to keep his distaste from his face. “Randus needs Orem for the equipment preparations. You were with him last?”

Stagzi continued to meet Ket's distaste for him with exasperating amusement. “Ah yes, he asked me, ‘Stagzi, how could, hypothetically, an eladrin give up control? Not me, obviously.’ And of course I told him his sister favored consumption of material plane beverages, to which eladrin seem to have such an, ah, _interesting_ response. If you know what I mean.”

Ket resisted the urge to heave an enormous sigh. “So have you, or have you not, seen him recently?”

“Well, he asked me where would be appropriate to get such a beverage if he were _hypothetically_ curious, and I told him I knew a good establishment, so we went there together, and I made sure he didn’t overdo it.” Stagzi adopted the particular lilting cadence that Ket most despised as he recounted what Ket could only assume was the events of the previous evening. 

“And he came back with you?” Ket prodded, exerting an effort not to allow his scowl to descend into nostril flaring, which he considered a strictly unacceptable expression.

“No, he saw someone he’d done business with previously and became in conversation about shampoo. His friend offered lodgings and he didn’t want to come back at the time, so I left there without him.” Stagzi shrugged with a flourish, his face as exaggeratedly apologetic as his tone was mocking.

After getting directions to the establishment at which Orem was last seen, Ket made a rapid departure, his spine stiff with irritation. The unease that had steadily grown as Stagzi described the events of the previous evening settled into a knot of worry somewhere between his shoulder blades. It didn’t take too long to find the tea house in question, which seemed to double as a pub after normal hours. Unfortunately Orem was nowhere to be found.

“We talked late into the evening, but he seemed to be suffering some discontent. I sent him to my favorite grove with a bottle of good wine.” A man with an immaculate head of hair gave Ket directions after some persuasion. Ket left the establishment with his hackles still up. He knew how alternately vulnerable and pushy Orem could be when drunk, and was more concerned than he would like to admit. Orem was unpredictable and foolhardy under the best of circumstances, and Ket shuddered to think how the trauma he’d experienced over the past months would be influencing his already questionable decision making.

Ket found his way to the grove in question, grumbling under his breath the whole way. He counted off the hours of the day wasted thus far in his search for Orem, in a bid to convince himself he was angry at the inconvenience and not rather desperately concerned for his companion’s well-being. It was a fruitless exercise. 

The grove itself was lovely, a strong breeze blowing the unexpected fresh scent of wild places into Ket's face. A dense ring of beech trees gave way to a mossy hollow and a small pond, thoroughly cut off from the scents and sounds of the city. Orem lay beside the pond, surrounded by a sparse ring of cut flowers and a single large bottle (apparently empty), his robes and hair splayed about him artistically. As Ket paused for a moment to contemplate the scene, the edge of Orem’s hand blurred slightly and materialized a loose clump of tiny white flowers with much larger rough-edged leaves.

“Hellfire and bureaucracy!” Ket snapped, the image of a pile of flowers in an otherwise empty bed rising unbidden to his mind. He rushed to Orem’s side and laid his hand against one pale cheek, which he found surprisingly cold. The eladrin’s eyes were half-lidded and staring blankly towards the beech canopy.

“Leave me alone,” Orem whispered. His voice was hardly audible above the rustling of leaves in wind.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Ket demanded. The frustration that had been growing since the moment he left his room blossomed into panic-tinged anger. A spray of silvery-green variegated leaves manifested from Orem’s bangs, and Ket took a slow breath to modulate his voice and suppress this sudden burst of emotions. Diplomacy meant being able to recognize the right time and place to express one’s own feelings, and this was neither.

“My fault. Why even bother? All dead, now even master Althern, and it’s my entire fault.” Orem continued to stare blankly, his red rimmed eyes widening to full stare. Tears began welling up, the first to fall generating a single blue forget-me-not on a leafless stem that tumbled down his bloodlessly pale face.

“If Althern had had faith in you he wouldn’t have pined himself to death.” Ket paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He’d been holding out hope that he would encounter a wild, mischievous Orem more in keeping with his previous experience. What he found instead was his worst-case scenario come to full fruition, the sort of existential misery that was an entirely reasonable and potentially unavoidable rebound from the stoic way Orem had been handling his losses.

“We’re here for you, Randus, Torq, Trelle, and me. If you can’t have faith in yourself, at least believe in us.” Ket continued when Orem’s desperate silence dragged on. He brushed flowers and tears alike from Orem’s cheeks and turned Orem’s head to face him with gentle hands.

Orem didn’t respond, his throat blurring momentarily and spawning several flowering spikes of lavender. Concern deepening as flowers continued to appear out of nowhere, Ket shifted his hands up to finger-comb Orem’s hair. The current extent of risk to Orem’s life was entirely unclear. Ket wasn’t sure whether Orem would become insubstantial as his condition worsened or if he would hit an unspecified arcane threshold beyond which he would abruptly convert entirely into flowers. He had to snap Orem out of his current train of thought.

As Ket's fingers carded through his hair, Orem remained inert. Tears streaked down his face as he lay trembling and silent in the plush star-shaped moss. Orem, who according to Randus had shed only a handful tears upon learning of the death of his home and people, and who had blamed even those few tears on the dust with an unshaking voice. Who had been turned inside-out at his own master’s resting place and yet didn’t hesitate to stand back up and continue making his way again as soon as he regained consciousness. Who faced sorrow and uncertainty alike with the same steely will with which he grasped his sword in battle. Orem, who had simply sought an opportunity to lose control, but upon doing so, had apparently been overcome by a bone-deep despair he found himself unable to fight any longer.

It was no longer Ket's proclivity to be overly soft-hearted, even for those he cared deeply about. He was still coming to understand the full reckoning of his service to Asmodeus, and beyond that the composition of his souls, an ever-shifting sea of stars, pieces clicking into constellations and breaking apart. The dizzying moment when the new pieces had outweighed his inner self had come and gone, and he was still changing. In this moment, he found his stomach twisting in a new and unpleasant way as he hovered over his companion. A wordless sound of heartfelt regret escaped him as he continued to rhythmically card Orem’s hair, laden with something he was certain he couldn't have produce before.

“Why?” Orem’s throat worked a bit with the effort of speech.

Ket gathered the eladrin to his lap as gently as he could bear. “Why what?” He asked. 

“You’re sad?” Orem answered in a questioning tone, eyes drifting closed again though tears continued to flow freely. He didn’t resist being drawn into Ket's lap. No additional flowers formed from his margins for the moment, and Ket sensed that he held his attention.

“Althern turned to flowers out of guilt and sorrow for your presumed loss, and now Spud may destroy the world out of grief. These things aren’t your fault, but we are perhaps the only people poised to fix the situation. You have everything to live for and no excuse to give up.” Ket settled Orem in his lap and braced his head against his own chest, continuing to play with Orem’s hair once he was settled. He willed Orem to break out of his spiral of self-loathing. Although he didn’t like to admit it, Orem was the fulcrum of the party. Without him, staying together and successfully returning to the feywild would be difficult. Without him, the hope of finding allies once there was vastly diminished.

For a time they lingered in silence, Ket alternately massaging Orem’s scalp and allowing his fingers to drift lower, stroking Orem’s face, neck, or shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring way. The appearance of additional flowers continued to be forestalled, and Ket allowed himself to hope. 

“I wonder if my sister... It had been so long, and now…” Orem finally made another sound, voice pinched and uncertain.

Ket forced himself to breath evenly and smoothed the tension from his face. He didn’t resist as his fingers began to weave a fishtail braid into Orem’s long blond hair of their own volition. “I’m sure Kammis is fine. Your parents were quite… absolute in their intention to remain hidden. It’s unlikely they have brought any others under their protection since we left, but I’m sure they’re keeping themselves and those already in place at White Stone safe.”

Orem flopped one hand restlessly, but didn’t pull away from Ket's ministrations. “I’m worried about her…” Orem whimpered and curled his legs up into himself, consolidating further into Ket's lap. They sat in almost companionable silence for a few minutes before Ket responded.

“I know,” Ket soothed as he continued braiding, shifting his legs so Orem’s stiff torso fell back against him. He was rewarded by the feeling of Orem relaxing. “I’m sure I never told you, but I also have a sister. I miss her, and I worry about her. I need to make the world safe for her too,” Ket murmured, continuing to braid along Orem’s bowed head. As his hands moved mechanically, he found himself weaving Orem’s hair back into itself in a crown-like circlet, just as he had done for Charlotte many times before. He was fiercely glad that his fingers still held the muscle memory despite the years that separated them and all the fighting his hands had had to do in that time. Ket pulled a thin scrap of leather wrapping from a pocket and bound the braid off carefully before burying the loose end.

“Sorry…” Orem mumbled in a small and miserable way. He twisted in place to press his forehead against the base of Ket's throat. Clasping his hands around Orem’s waist, Ket wondered how long it would be this time, to stamp out the desire to reach for Orem by the evening campfire, to not be guarding against the undue warmth and familiarity that would undoubtedly try slipping into his words. He was prepared for Orem to forget their whole exchange this time, and gave away more of himself than he otherwise would have. It was easier in some ways, and more painful in others.

“Instead of apologizing, make me a promise.” If getting drunk always drove Orem to such fey fits, Ket was sure he never wanted to see the eladrin raise alcohol to lips ever again. But the promise would likely be forgotten once Orem finished his trance and his mind was healed of the alcoholic overindulgence. Still, maybe something would stick with him, would make him just a bit safer if this happened again.

“Nnn?” Orem made a questioning noise

“Next time you want to… lose control, or wander off, take me- take one of us with you. You obviously can’t be trusted to make reasonable decisions.” He didn’t want to become Orem’s assigned babysitter, but the fact that Orem had gone to Stagzi rather than himself or at least one of the other party members rankled.

Orem clenched a fistful of Ket's shirt and made an unintelligibly muffled response into the rucked up fabric.

“Didn’t catch that,” Ket said conversationally, making soothing circles on Orem’s back with one hand just as he’d done for his little brother’s childhood woes.

“I promise.” Orem drew back fractionally to give a clearer answer before burying his face immediately back into Ket's chest.

It took a great deal of cajoling to convince Orem they had to go back to Erudite Cloud’s compound. Even after succeeding, Ket was foiled by Orem’s complete refusal to assist in the process by moving in absolutely any way. Several minutes and a great deal of maneuvering later, Ket emerged back onto the street carrying Orem’s limp form piggy-back.

“You could hold on a little,” Ket grumbled, shifting Orem up a bit higher. “It’ll be your fault if you go over backwards.”

Orem clasped his arms around Ket's neck and dropped his chin on Ket's left shoulder with a sigh. Ket was grateful that Orem’s hair was at least held out of his face this time as he headed off towards the compound. The quarter-elf made his way as quickly as possible, steadfastly ignoring quizzical looks and tentative offers of assistance he was receiving from passers-by. During the 20 or so minute walk, Ket distracted himself from the unwanted attention by doing his best to monitor Orem’s arcane signature. In the grove, the eladrin had been giving off a barely-discernable buzz of magic. The further away Ket carried him, the more lively Orem felt. Pressed against his back, Ket could feel Orem’s body drawing warmth from his own. The worryingly faint sensation of magic gradually grew into the steadily pulsing hum that Ket had felt once before. As they traveled in silence, the atmosphere around them gradually transitioned from an air of nearly palpable sorrow emitting from Orem to one of exhausted contentment. 

Rumor of their arrival must’ve reached Cloud’s estate ahead of them, because Randus was standing anxiously by the gate when Ket turned up the path. “Hi, uh, is everything? Okay?” Randus asked haltingly. His expression seemed to be wavering between concern and confusion.

“Stagzi took him drinking last night and left him in town. He’ll be fine.” Ket felt like sagging with exhaustion, but he didn’t want to go through the hassle of transferring Orem to Randus, so he endured.

“That’s a relief, I can take him if you’re tired,” Randus offered anyway, helpful to a fault as always.

“I’m fine,” Ket bristled. He told himself he just wanted to spare Orem’s pride a bit, no need to be handing him around like a sack of grain. And maybe his own pride too- he might not be the strongest in the party, but he could certainly carry a 100 pound eladrin a few miles.

Randus quickly turned and led the way to Orem’s room, glancing back at Ket every so often. He didn’t comment on Orem’s neatly braided hair or his eyes, red-rimmed from crying, but he wore a very thoughtful expression. When they arrived at Orem’s room, Randus helpfully got the door and followed Ket inside to hover nearby.

Ket sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to shift uncomfortably under Randus’ stare while waiting for Orem to release his grip. When it became clear that Orem was not in fact going to do so, Ket gently pulled his hands apart.

“Thank you, _mell nín_ ,” Orem said solemnly as he flopped backwards on the bed.

“You owe me one,” Ket choked out in surprise. He tugged sharply on the bottom of his jacket to resettle it and tried to suppress the blush he felt rising in his cheeks by sheer force of will. Trying not to look in a hurry, Ket turned and strode purposefully out of his room.

He hoped Randus didn’t have a need to cast comprehend languages any time soon. He hoped those two words of elvish fell immediately and permanently from the artificer’s mind. As he lay on his own bed rubbing his sore arms, he echoed Orem’s words back to himself: “ _my beloved_ ”. 

That night, having been purified of his spirit taint, Ket was treated to the same sort of lucid dream that the others had described in the previous days. He woke from a sunny hillside picnic with a golden-headed eladrin lounging in his lap to stare at the still-dark ceiling of his room, clutching the empty sheets beside him. “I hate this place,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, finale chapter will be happy and cute again I promise.


	3. Bonus Scene - Randus Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Randus's perspective, a solid maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I forgot that time was a thing and so on. Thanks to Domoz for calling me out, haha. Enjoy this bonus scene I wrote and forgot to post, real chapter 3 coming soon unless I fall back out of the time stream.

A loud hiss came from behind him as Wicker Gnat dunked hot metal into cool water. “Hey Randus, can I ask you something?”

“Uh, Yeah?” Randus answered.

“If you don’t want to answer that’s fine… but, that Ket guy? What’s his deal?”

Randus blinked in confusion at the edge he was grinding, not sure what the question was in reference to. “Uhhh, what- what do you mean, exactly?”

“Are he and the elf girl like, a thing?” She pressed.

“Not that I’m aware of, she has a girlfriend.” Randus replied indifferently. He took neither his attention nor his eyes from his work.

“Cool, cool. What about him and the eladrin? Are they together?” She asked quickly.

“I don’t… believe so?” Randus replied hesitantly. He’d never spared a thought for the possibility, one way or the other. But they’d never said they were together, so that seemed most accurate.

“Oh, okay, great! Thanks.” Gnat seemed satisfied with his answer, so Randus released the whole matter from his mind.

**-Later-**

Randus was sure Orem or Trelle or maybe Torq had been here just a moment ago, but when he called for Orem, then asked the others if they’d seen him, nobody answered. When Randus looked around the workshop, he found himself alone. The question wasn’t terribly pressing, so he turned back to his drafting with a shrug.

**-That evening-**

Orem still hadn’t come by, and now Randus really did need his opinion, so he made sure his drafts and prototypes were neatly ordered and went to find his friend. Unfortunately Orem had gone out for the evening.

**-Even later-**

The following morning, Randus stood outside of Orem’s door for several minutes, wondering if he should knock. It was early, but not _very_ early, and eladrin didn’t sleep anyhow. On the other hand, Orem generally just opened the door and let him in, so maybe he should wait. Eventually, when this didn’t happen, Randus cracked the door open himself and peered into the room. Empty. Next, acting on advice from the servants who had seen the two of the together, Randus went to Stagzi’s room, stared at the door, didn’t open the door, left. Went to Ket's door, once again considered knocking. It was definitely no longer too early, but Ket had gone through that whole ordeal the previous day. Maybe he was sleeping in. While Randus overthought the situation with his metal fist inches from the door, it opened before him to reveal Ket's classic irritated face.

**-And yet later-**

Randus tried to be attentive of the time, only fussing with very minor details in anticipation of Orem’s return. When neither Ket nor Orem made an appearance for over an hour, Randus asked a servant to notify him if either of the two were seen and delved into the more serious work of designing a new axe for Torq.

**-Later even than that-**

Loud knocking finally caught Randus’ attention. “Yes?”

“Your friends are on their way back, it seems they may require your assistance.” A servant was standing by the door of the workshop.

“Indeed? Thank you.” Randus rushed to the entrance of the compound.

Sure enough, Ket came trudging up the path in short order carrying an apparently unconscious Orem. His face was flushed from exertion and twisted into one of his somewhat-less-common-but-still-in-general-rotation scowls, the one that indicated he was both annoyed _and_ concerned. Orem’s head was resting heavily against Ket's neck, his hair uncharacteristically braided in a style Randus had only seen in Coldport. If Gnat hadn’t brought it up just yesterday, it wouldn’t even have crossed Randus’ mind… but. 

Orem did seem more receptive to Ket's advice than that of other people, and Ket was more likely to be both amused and annoyed by Orem rather than just annoyed. Furthermore, Kammis had let Trelle braid her hair when she was upset, and Orem had experienced a lot to be upset about recently. Trelle and Kammis were “together”. Randus upgraded the likelihood of Orem and Ket having “a thing” to a solid maybe before he once again let the train of thought drop from his mind like so much chaff. After all, it really didn’t concern him.


	4. Just a Few Weeks Ago, Somewhere Over the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orem realizes that he was Terribly Mistaken, thanks to Ket's teasing, and drunk Orem prevails once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter got... really wildly away from me, so since it was already really long now I'll have to write a short final chapter. Sorry for the delay, things have been going sort of Not Great for me with work and mental health recently, and I tend to forget that time exists when that happens. I think I found all the typos again this time, but if not, feel free to complain.

-A few months previous, in Cold Port-

Ket was not at all looking forward to spending several months on a boat with these people. Well, Randus was just as pleasant as ever. Orem was similarly largely unchanged in temperament, which was unfortunate, in Ket's opinion. The new guys were okay too, sort of. Little Sparkle was the kind of person he could be friends with, under better circumstances. She’d proven trustworthy so far but Ket didn’t like being challenged in his auspice as face for the group, and he liked even less to be traveling to a foreign land with only her intel to prepare them. Sekhar on the other hand was nearly as snobby as Orem, something the group definitely didn’t need a second helping of, as well as a particular mix of handsome, mysterious, and brooding that Ket wasn’t really feeling at the moment.

While Orem busied himself with becoming entangled in the lengths of rope they didn’t even need, Ket actually helped load supplies onto the Proud Baroness. There was some dried fruit, jerky, travel bread, and barrels upon barrels of salt fish. Passing them up to Sekhar one after another in what quickly began to seem like an unending stream, Ket began to wonder if Randus had been swindled by a fast-talking supplier. They couldn’t possibly need this much food. He was wondering right up until he grasped an identical barrel and found it twice as heavy as the last, sloshing with liquid.

“Sekhar, you loaded the water first, right?” Ket asked suspiciously, fingers drumming on the top of the barrel.

“That is correct,” Sekhar answered from the deck rail, turning back expectantly to receive the next barrel.

“What’s in these ones then?” Upon closer inspection, he found a bung with amber residue around it.

“I believe that would be the rum,” Sekhar said brightly. “It is a sea voyage after all, tradition demands it.”

“Ooooohhhh noooooo,” Ket groaned under his breath, then more loudly, “How much?”

“The supplier’s standard ration for a three month voyage,” Sekhar replied. When Ket made no move to lift the barrel to him, Sekhar hopped lightly over the rail to fetch it himself. “Why?”

Ket shrugged slightly, then said “Just not sure how much space we have for non-essential supplies.”

“I think everything will fit,” Randus chimed in, coming around from the helm with his goggles askew. “O-Orem, what are you doing with that rope?” Sekhar was left offering his raised barrel to thin air as Randus turned away and rushed to free Orem from the knotted lines. 

“If you’re opposed to drinking it’s going to be a long, boring trip,” Little Sparkle pointed out as she helped Ket haul one of the rum barrels toward the gangplank.

“I’m not opposed, and I have plenty of things to occupy my time either way,” Ket huffed. After depositing the cask in the hold, he dusted himself off indignantly and retreated to one of the cabins.

Watching him go, Little Sparkle made an irritated noise. There were still more supplies to load. Back on the dock she asked Sekhar, “Are you sure these guys have saved the world? They seem kind of…” She trailed off.

“Distractible?” Sekhar offered. “Haphazard, perhaps?” They hauled the last of the supplies up the gangplank together.

“Something like that,” Sparkle said with a noncommittal tilt of her head.

“Yes, well, the king of Diamond Throne went so far as to erect statues in their honor. I can personally avow that Lord Duthane, though unassuming, is quite effective. I myself haven’t worked with the others before now, but from the stories Randus tells and what we’ve seen thus far I would infer they are similarly talented in their own ways.” Sekhar’s answer was accompanied by a professionally polite smile.

“Great,” Little Sparkle grumbled.

While there was enough room in the hold to stow all of their provisions, the Proud Baroness was not a large vessel. The party was only able to arrange for private sleeping accommodations through improvisation- Randus ended up with a cot against the wall by the helm, which he took in stride as the person who would be mostly in charge of maintaining their course. Sekhar was still securing barrels and sacks when Orem, Ket, and Little Sparkle were settling into cabins, and found himself camping out, hemmed in by crates and barrles, in the slightly-larger storage room that Torq had once used as a weapons practice arena. His resignation to such a fate was only slightly less graceful than Randus’ calm acceptance of his own makeshift quarters.

The first few days of the voyage were peaceful, as all five party members took a much needed rest after their tense vertex-hopping adventure. Orem, characteristically, was the first to become restless, though the others soon found themselves in a similar state. Other than the small deck over the bow, there was no room to exercise, and no private space other than the small areas each of them slept in. Randus of course was deprived even of that nicety, since someone else had to been watching their course while he slept.

Just as Little Sparkle had predicted, everyone was very shortly bored and (with the exception of Randus) rather cranky at the confinement. They talked and played games with dice, cards, and Ket's puzzle cube, trading songs and stories from their respective homelands. Ket was notably absent for long stretches of time, physical body in a trance-like state while his mind went elsewhere, free to seek other company and go about his business. Somehow, it didn’t do much to make him any more pleasant than those members of the team who were denied escape from their captive boredom. Orem took particular issue with Ket's absences, amusing himself and the others by dragging the quarter-elf’s unresponsive body toward the nearest side of the boat and dramatically pantomiming the act of throwing him overboard for an untimely burial at sea.

As days dragged into weeks, they eventually settled into a tolerably peaceful rhythm. The rum was in fact quite helpful, though Randus, Little Sparkle, and Sekhar found themselves imbibing while either Ket or Orem took their turn at the wheel. After a few weeks of alternating which of the two would be omitted by necessity, the meeting settled in to a regular schedule on Orem’s watch. While Ket had begrudgingly joined in after a time, Orem unfailingly begged off to meditate, fish, or ‘keep watch for sea monsters’. After weeks of teasing and prodding did nothing to wear down his firmly asserted disinterest in joining them, the party gave up trying and simply fixed the schedule.

The issue came to a head a week out from Eel Island, when Randus was confidant he’d gotten the auto-pilot running reasonably well for the time being. Having a signature to lock onto from a city had been an enormous help. “All right, that should do it. Our flight path should be set until morning!” Randus beamed at Orem as he patted the top of the control panel in a parental sort of way.

“Are you sure?” Orem replied, skeptical.

“Indeed, we’ve just come into range of arcane signatures from the resupply station, so I was able to reconfigure the elasma in the tracking module to lock onto that signal. It’s not as good as a proper locating beacon, but we’ll be mostly straight, so I shouldn’t have to correct course for a while!” Randus spoke enthusiastically as he drew Orem below decks. 

Ket was showing Little Sparkle and Sekhar a rather obscure multi-directional version chess he’d picked up in the fey wild when Orem and Randus came into the room, the gaming board set up on a makeshift surface of plate metal from a wall panel set over one of the ubiquitous barrels. It was the weekly rum-and-games night that everyone but Orem participated in, which Randus was eager to draw the eladrin into for once. The other three already had glasses drawn when they straggled in.

“I understand this particularly devilish game hails from your home, master Rivendorn. Would you clarify this entirely absurd strategy Ket's been going on about? I can’t believe for a minute he’s doing anything other than setting lady Sparkle and myself up to lose to him rather spectacularly,” Sekhar asked, beckoning at Orem commandingly.

After a great deal of bickering, Orem had to admit that Ket was right, to his enormous chagrin. He changed the topic as quickly as he could, asking Randus and Sekhar to elaborate on their participation in the civil war in Diamond throne. The discussion was suitably derailed, and rapidly devolved into a lively series of questions concerning what everyone had been up to. Ket happened to be seated right at the tapped rum barrel, and from his position of power he took extra care that Orem wasn’t getting too much to drink. He had no desire for a third encounter with an inebriated Orem.

“I did have a statue made for Smith,” Randus was saying, “Orem at least got to see it. His parents though, well, I found them. They, they knew about The Thing That Shatters The Sky. They put It in him on purpose.” He shook his head sadly. “What about T-“ Randus started to ask Orem. Seeing where the question was headed, Ket leaned forward and interrupted, hoping to keep the mood light. 

“Hey Orem, remember when you were on the Ceres Warrior with me? After you and Randus had already gathered all the parts for the bomb?”

“Yes, of course.”

“There was that night on the way back when you got really sick, just after the Shining Force joined up with us. You said if you died I should tell your sister she was right, but you never did tell me what she was right about. I meant to ask her in the fey wild, but somehow I never got the chance,” Ket warmed to his diversion as soon as he set it in motion. Maybe being on another not-ship was making him nostalgic, and maybe he just wanted to get a good rise out of the indignant eladrin. “What was it?”

Orem looked at him with genuine confusion. “I really said that? I- I’d thought-” Orem looked down at the mug he was rolling between his hands, then back up a Ket, eyes narrowing. “Are you quite sure?”

“Unfortunately nobody else can corroborate this, but I’m absolutely sure. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t worry Ket, she’ll know.’” With enormous pleasure, Ket watched as an expression of absolute horror dawned across Orem’s face. It seemed he’d missed out on a prime opportunity to needle Orem on this mysterious soft spot for quite some time, an unfortunate oversight he would have to make up for.

“I- I really rather hoped that was… You know, sometimes, when an eladrin runs a fever, they can have false visions and imagine all sorts of ridiculous things.” Orem paused, looked at his rum, then downed the whole thing in panic. “Anyhow, I certainly can’t tell you, it’s very private, personal, and just- I think I felt the ship shift just now? I’ll go check our course.” He fled the room.

“That was... odd,” Sekhar said, glancing at the others. Little Sparkle nodded cautiously, her face a blank slate. Ket was still snickering at Orem’s expense as Randus made to follow after him.

“I didn’t feel anything, but I’d better go see if everything’s…” Just as he was rising from his seat, a shout from Orem cut him off, so perfectly timed that Ket could only imagine the eladrin had counted off the seconds it would take Randus to parse the situation and decide to follow.

“Don’t worry, everything is under control, and Randus definitely doesn’t need to come check on anything!” He called down, voice slightly too audible for him to actually be at the helm. Ket's knowing smile deepened slightly.

“A-alright then, thanks?” Randus shouted back, still looking concerned. 

“So, how do you three feel about March of the Seasons?” Ket asked, swallowing the last of his laughter and gesturing at the game board still laid out before them. “I think you all should have enough of the rules to give it a shot.”

Little Sparkle eyed him skeptically, but when Randus and Sekhar shared a glance and a determined nod, she acquiesced as well.

When Ket drew the party back into the game, Orem allowed himself to sag against the wall and then slide down it. He sat, limp with relief that the man apparently didn’t intend to publicly humiliate him by continuing to pursue the question. Quiet as a cat he moved to his cabin, glided in, and eased the door shut behind himself. His cheeks were burning with the force of his shocked embarrassment as Orem recounted his scattered memories of that evening.

Orem would never have admitted to the fantasies he sometimes had of his travelling companion. The two of them had frequent clashes of opinion and personality, and Orem was painfully aware that Ket considered him a nuisance, perhaps even a burden. The disdain was not mutual, though Orem’s pride didn’t allow him to show his warmer feelings. He’d quickly been impressed by Ket's daring competence, regardless of the occasions on which he disagreed with the man’s choices. As his regard for Ket had grown, he’d experienced an unwelcome kindling of attraction as well. Seeing no other possible outlet for the infatuation, Orem occasionally allowed his mind to wander over various intimate scenarios while he tranced. Not often, only when the burden of his secret crush became too heavy, and he feared he might betray himself.

Orem curled up on his bed and hugged his knees to his chest. He sat stiffly for a minute, hardly daring to breathe as waves of horror washed through him. “Why did I ever…” His words choked off. Why had he started doing it, letting his mind run over those imagined scenes? He could never justify how he’d failed so dramatically to draw a line between his private imaginings and real life. The befuddling fire of alcohol screaming through his body could never excuse his incredible misuse of his companion. Recalling the look of disbelief that had flicked momentarily across Ket's face the morning after made Orem squirm with misery so palpable he nearly choked. And yet Ket had accepted Orem’s words and never made another overture. It was no wonder Ket didn’t much like him.

\--

After a bitter struggle, Ket was triumphant in the match of Feywild chess. It took a great deal of cajoling on his part to keep Randus from leaving the game, and the artificier’s distraction proved a great hindrance to his strategy. 

“You didn’t by any chance chase Orem away to ensure your own victory?” Sekhar asked dryly, frowning at the large pile of his captured game pieces stacked neatly by Ket.

Aware of Little Sparkle’s inquisitive gaze, Ket scoffed light-heartedly. “Not just a winning strategy, since it’s only a four player game. Someone would’ve been sitting out anyhow.”

“So what exactly happened between you two? Anything we’ll have to worry about coming back to bite us?” Little Sparkle pushed. Ket still struggled to read her intentions, but he had no interest in revealing their entanglement to her regardless of her motives in asking. He was perfectly comfortable strategizing around the weaknesses of his team without the help of an interloper.

Ket poured all of his diplomatic guile into his response. “Just as Orem said, he got sick. I thought he might be faking for sympathy or to shirk his duties, I didn’t know him well at the time. In any event, he was delirious and said things that didn’t make much sense. Nothing ever came of it.” Ket shrugged casually, then reached to pour another round of drinks. “Ready for a rematch?”

Sekhar eagerly rose to the challenge, drawing less enthusiastic affirmations from Randus and Little Sparkle. By Ket’s design the second game stretched late into the night and roused competitive frustration in both Sekhar and Little Sparkle. When he once again snatched victory from her claws, Little Sparkle threw her arms up in a rare display of emotion.

“This type of game isn’t in my wheelhouse. I’m done for the night,” She said begrudgingly before she departed.

“Indeed, and I should check our course, just to be safe,” Randus excused himself. Sekhar followed him after sparing a lordly nod for Ket. Ket was left staring at the empty game boards pensively. 

Reflecting on Orem’s panicked departure, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else, buried beneath his own disgusted resignation and Orem’s cracking facade of ignorance. Fallow ground perhaps, left to weeds, which might yet yield a sweet harvest. Ket poured himself a double of rum and tossed if off before he set to picking up the game pieces and rebuilding them into their self-contained cube with practiced ease. He wondered how strenuous it would be to clear the thorns and rocks of time and misunderstanding between them, and if it would be worth the effort.

With the warm buzz of rum easing the edges off his resolve, Ket marched up to Orem’s cabin door and knocked twice, firmly. After a few moments passed without response, he opened the door to see only an empty chamber, the bedding lightly disrupted. The simple sign clearly indicated a restless attempt at meditation to Ket’s practiced eye. “Tomorrow then,” Ket murmured, and turned to his own room. With the gulf of years between them, one night could hardly make the distance more difficult to bridge.

\--

After sulking for a time, Orem drifted in a fog of guilt to the ship’s helm. He stood there listlessly, watching as the ship found its way perfectly without his assistance. He was unnecessary here in the small control room, just as he was unnecessary to the warm companionship the others were sharing below. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before Randus stumbled into the room.

“Hey, Orem. Everything alright?” The artificier asked him, eyes bleary from the rum and the late hour.

“Yes, it would appear I was mistaken about the autopilot. Have a good night,” Orem replied a bit stiffly. 

"N-no, I meant," Randus began to reply, reaching a tentative hand toward his old friend.

With fluid ease, Orem dodged the overture. He fled the room, seeking a new place of solitude in which to continue berating himself. Amidships, he could hear the quiet scuffling sounds of the others settling down in their respective bunks. That meant the common room would be safely unoccupied, and Orem allowed his feet to carry him past his cabin to the improvised gaming table. Ket was still packing up the game pieces when Orem ghosted down the corridor. Supplementing his stealth with arcane camouflage, Orem peered into the room unseen to soak in Ket’s unguarded pensive expression. 

The soft expression, open and inviting, was a face Ket chose not to show his companions. It was the face Orem pictured when he allowed his mind to wander into fantasy, something he had thought to be an invention of his own imagination. Upon opening himself to acceptance of his drunken night with Ket, Orem was able to see that lie for what it was. 

Memories too long refused as imaginary rushed through him, burning him with desire and guilt. He backed away from the door and sank to the floor once more, struggling to reign in the wave of emotion that disrupted his arcane center. A warm tingling spread to his stomach and fizzed through his limbs until he was able to steady his breathing and force himself to calm. When Ket entered the corridor and moved in the opposite direction toward the cabins, Orem made himself small and pressed his churning magic outward until he blended perfectly against the wall.

As soon as Ket turned the corner, Orem darted into the newly vacant room. Hand shaking slightly, he snatched up Ket’s empty glass and filled it to the top with the rum he’d been so resolutely avoiding. Though he’d occasionally imbibed the intoxicating beverages of his own kind in the past five years, he understood much better now that the unique fey beverages had a dramatically different effect on him, designed as they were not to disrupt the wild fey magic that coursed through eladrin bodies. He hadn’t drunk any material plane ‘alcohol’ since he nearly lost hold of himself in the Seven Clans region. 

Somehow, Ket had been there to rescue him, and Orem felt a sudden flush of regret that he hadn’t asked why or how, hadn’t even thanked him for the kindness shown in that secluded grove. Orem sipped at the rum, then wrinkled his nose at the taste. Pushing away the often-recalled sensation of steady fingers sliding through and then braiding his hair, Orem forced himself to focus his recollection on the parts of their encounter that he usually avoided.

“We... laid together. On the Astral Sea. It was real, but I never spoke to him about it.” Orem spoke his thoughts aloud for clarity, then sipped the rum.

“He must’ve been hurt by that.” Orem recalled the sidelong glances he’d sometimes noticed, Ket’s eyes burning with something, his face cold and unreadable. Orem had pretended not to notice, or care. Another sip of rum.

“He was displeased that I went to Stagzi. I thought it was just dislike or mistrust, but...” a bigger swallow of rum as he recalled Ket’s reprimand. His voice had faltered, as if having to say the words hurt him, demanding that Orem come to the party next time, at least, or to Ket himself.

“But he still cares for me, despite how I’ve treated him.” Orem ticked his conclusions off on his fingers, then gulped the rest of the rum. He stood decisively, and made for Ket’s room before either his resolve or his courage to act on it could falter. He was already beginning the feel the alcohol fogging his grip on reality, and felt a moment of disquiet. He’d thought a single glass would be fine, but hadn’t considered that the beverage might be much more potent than the wine he’d had last time. 

Pausing in the hall he steeled himself to go on. If he didn’t seek Ket out tonight, the foolish injury he’d inflicted on him unintentionally would become a conscious decision. It might permanently spoil the last opportunity to cultivate something between them. 

\--

Ket grumbled at the knock on his door and settled his bedroll firmly over his head to muffle the sound. When Orem’s voice called his name in a soft sing-song tone, Ket unmuffled his head and rolled to face the door with a curse. His first impulse was to send Orem away, but before the words could leave his lips he recalled the last time Orem had gotten drunk. He’d demanded that Orem come to him if he wanted to drink himself to oblivion, and then tonight he’d gone ahead and intentionally upset him. “And so the bird comes home to roost,” Ket drawled under his breath. "Fantastic."

“Come in Orem,” he called softly, just loud enough that Orem could probably make out the words, but not so loudly that Sparkle was likely to hear and waken. The door promptly creaked open, then shut with a quiet click shortly thereafter.

“I’m, sorry, I wanted to speak with you. But, I had of rum while I was thinking. I had a whole cup, and I think, maybe, it was too much.” Orem made his way falteringly to the bed, and slumped onto the side. "Is it?"

“Yes Orem, a full mug of rum is a lot. Especially on top of what you already had, when I was specifically trying NOT to get you drunk.” Ket didn’t bother to mask the grievance in his tone- if Orem wanted to talk, he should confront those feelings. If he just wanted a repeat performance and to walk away denying it again, well, he wasn’t going to find Ket amenable.

“I didn’t mean it. I am, I’m really sorry.” Orem paused. He sat on the edge of the bed, still as a statue. His words came slowly, in a moderately successful attempt at retaining control over his tone and cadence. “I thought... it doesn’t matter really what I thought. Just excuses, and that won’t help anything.” 

“Get to the point Orem,” Ket interrupted impatiently. Orem seemed to be fairly calm and even somewhat rational, so Ket felt no need to be gentle. The eladrin was so perfectly motionless that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. Ket’s words seemed to shake him loose.

Orem gripped the bedding in tight fists by his legs, hands trembling slightly. “My sister, she told me I’d never find love until... I stopped looking in the wrong direction.”

Ket sat bolt upright and stared at the eladrin, a featureless shape in the darkness. “It took you seven years to come talk to me, and that’s what you have to say for yourself?” He hissed, torn between disgust and amusement, as was usual for his dealings with Orem.

“Said sorry,” Orem replied reproachfully. He crept closer and covered one of Ket’s hands with his own, the contact feather light. Ket wondered if Orem also felt the spark that passed between them where their skin touched.

“For what, getting drunk? Pretending it never happened? Doing it at all? Claiming not to have regrets?” Ket’s attempt at a humorous tone fell short of the mark, tinged as it was by an edge of bitterness. He curled his hand into a fist but didn’t pull away.

“Getting drunk, just this time. Not realizing you might... return my desire, outside my own fantasies.” Orem shifted another fraction closer, and Ket could see his whole body trembling now. “Wouldn’t have said such silly things if I thought I was really talking with you, the real you.” A shake of his head ruffled his hair and wafted his scent over Ket, honey and lilacs and warm spring sun. 

“So. And you’re sure this conversation we’re having is real?” It was hard not to reach out and pull the eladrin closer, to drink in his sweet aroma and feel the thrum of magic barely contained by his skin. The attraction he’d successfully smothered down to the tiniest ember flared back up with a vengeance. Only the nagging irritation that still seethed at the back of his mind kept Ket from gathering Orem into his lap that instant, to sooth away his trembling with the gentle pressure of hands and lips. He didn’t want one more passionate night with Orem followed by days, months, perhaps once again _years_ of their prickly mutual avoidance and repressed desire. If he was going to suffer the indignation of his feelings for the vain and contrary eladrin being reignited, well, Ket was determined to make it worth the frustration this time.

“I- I think so. I’m not so, disoriented? This time. And, in a trance, in my- my dreams, you wouldn’t stay angry. You...” Orem reached toward Ket with his free hand, but stopped short, fingers halting barely a hair’s breadth from Ket’s shoulder. His breath hitched in the same instant, but after a brief pause he continued, falteringly. “You would want me.”

Ket closed his eyes against the pull in the pit of his stomach and considered his words carefully. Then he took Orem’s lifted hand in his own, nodded once, and replied. “You don’t seem as drunk either. Well, angry isn’t exactly right. I’m... skeptical. Annoyed, certainly. Drunk sex and apologies once or twice a decade isn’t going to satisfy me, Orem. Make it worth my while.” Stakes sufficiently raised, Ket leaned forward until he could clearly make out Orem’s face in the darkness. He looked hopeful, and a bit uncertain.

“The others-” Orem began hesitantly, interlacing his fingers with Ket’s. Ket cut him off.

“We can keep it between us easily enough, on the ship at least, if you’re careful. If that’s what you want.” Ket knew he’d guessed correctly when the cloud of uncertainty lifted from Orem’s brow and his thin lips slowly curved into a delighted smile. Sparkle would catch on pretty quickly in all likelihood, but Ket wasn’t particularly concerned. Secret relationships weren’t sustainable long term in close company. They’d just have to burn that bridge when they came to it.

“Please...” Was all Orem said in response, his voice tight. He shifted his free hand from Ket’s fist to his shoulder and closed the distance between them. Orem kissed Ket, hard and desperate. When he began to back away as abruptly as he’d surged forward, Ket gave in to his earlier impulse and pulled Orem close instead, swinging his legs around so Orem sat sideways in his lap, head cradled against Ket’s collarbone. He kissed Orem’s temple tenderly, slipping his hand out of Orem’s and settling it instead on his waist.

Orem’s trembling stilled almost immediately. Then without warning, he squirmed up in Ket’s lap, his lips capturing Ket’s again, one hand finding the space between Ket’s shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of his head. Ket failed to suppress a groan as Orem shifted against his groin, inadvertently opening his mouth to Orem’s questing tongue. Orem continued to squirm, shedding his robe one-handed to press his bare chest against Ket’s. When he paused to gasp a breath, Ket hissed raggedly, “You’re still drunk, and Little Sparkle is sleeping in the next room. We shouldn’t...”

Orem wriggled in place, grinding against Ket relentlessly until he had to clench his jaws shut or risk making a very incriminating sound. “I’ll be quiet, and when you wake up, this time I’ll still be with you. I want to be with you. _Please_.” Orem whispered, turning his face up to meet Ket’s eyes. Even in the dark Ket could see the burning intensity of his gaze. Everywhere their skin touched he was on fire. He knew Orem had grown stronger since they’d parted ways in the Feywild. He’d seen the evidence in their recent battles, but the difference was even more palpable now. 

On the Ceres Warrior, Orem’s shoulders had been thin and angular, almost delicate in Ket’s hands despite his lean strength. Now, although the shape of him was much the same, the power beating within him had grown from a mannerly hearth flame to a raging bonfire. Everything about him- the floral scent of his hair, the oddly sweet taste of his mouth, the wild magic that suffused his physical form- was intoxicating. Ket wondered if it was a small taste of the glamour that enticed travelers to their doom at the hands of the Fey. Perhaps it really was, because he already felt himself giving in. “Fine. But this time, I won’t let you walk away,” Ket answered simply. He dropped his mouth to Orem’s throat, kissing him fiercely as his hands found wistfully-remembered sensitive places to rest.

“Good,” Orem gasped savagely in response, as Ket's hands settled unerringly into just the right places on his hips. He kicked away the last of the bedding and clothing that separated their bodies and slid his hands lightly up Ket's bare thighs. Ket's hands clenched convulsively where they rested, and the pressure of his mouth grew harder against Orem’s neck and shoulder. Orem wondered if the quarter-elf would leave marks, then found he simply didn’t care. This time, when Orem fell into his trance and Ket into a deeply contented sleep, they remained in a tangle of sweaty limbs, unconcerned with the possibility of morning intrusions.

Ket woke to fingers running gently through his short hair, and opened his eyes to see a very naked Orem lounging beside him. Small silvery-blue marks dappled the pale skin of his throat and collarbone, while a larger one spread over his hip. Ket touched a gentle finger to the biggest one and shot a remorseful look up at Orem. “Sorry,” he murmured quietly, and kissed the mark gently. He rested his head against Orem's stomach for a moment, just drinking in his presence. Here, at least, was something to build upon. 

Smiling, Orem drew Ket up, placed an answering kiss on his forehead, then stood. With a wiggle of his fingers and a few mumbled words of elvish, a ripple of magic ran over his skin, leaving the bruises perfectly concealed behind it. “What for?” Orem responded, lifting one eyebrow archly. He made a show of dressing gracefully, then slipped out the door with a whispered “Little Sparkle will be waking soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway, I went to a week long conference, and half the presentations were about Hyaluronin which isn't even properly a proteoglycan because it isn't attached to a protein. So, boring presentation? Secretly writing gay fan fiction instead of taking notes on the iPad provided to me by my workplace. Social anxiety overwhelming? Leave nightly outrageous party to 'go to bed early', actually write gay fan fiction. Get home and spouse wants me to do chores? Claim I'm writing my manuscript like a Responsible Adult and Actually Write more gay fan fiction.


End file.
